


Quiet Nights

by ChillsofFire



Series: MegOp Week 2020 [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, I about formed a cavity when I was writing this so you're welcome, M/M, Post War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillsofFire/pseuds/ChillsofFire
Summary: A quiet night in the life of an ex-warlord and his Prime
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: MegOp Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593238
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93
Collections: MegOP Week 2020





	Quiet Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Happy MegOp Week! Day 2: Domestic, was a bit of a challenge for me, because I am not well practiced in fluff, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out! Enjoy!

Optimus shuts down his datapad just before the elevator reaches the top floor. It dings softly, announcing his arrival, and he presses his key against the touchpad that appears in front of him. Double secured, just in case. Megatron had been insistent when they’d built their home.

The pad glows a soft green, and the doors slide apart. The room is dark, the only light coming from the windows and the large monitor to his left. Outlined by the flickering screen, Optimus can just make out Megatron’s form on the couch, his head down.

A soft smile graces his face. The datapad in his servo is deposited on the closest table, and then Optimus is creeping toward the living room, careful to avoid any wayward toys that may find themselves underfoot.

Megatron is fast asleep, his optics shut, his chin tucked into his chest. On his lap, curled securely in his arms, their sparkling is in a similar state. His head is cradled in Megatron’s elbow, one small servo pressed flat to Megatron’s chest, the other curled in a fist close to his chin, as if he hasn’t quite decided if he wants to take a digit into his mouth or not. It’s a habit they have been trying to break. His mouth is slightly opened, and one optic twitches in his sleep.

As Optimus watches, he shifts, fussing a little. Megatron twitches, arms tightening around him, holding him closer to his chest. They both settle quickly, and the smile on Optimus’ face only grows.

His spark feels warm and overfull, and not for the first time he thanks Primus that this is what his life has led to.

He steps a little closer, bending down to press a gentle kiss to Megatron’s temple. Megatron starts, inhaling sharply as he wakes, always the light sleeper, and Optimus waits for his battle ready instinctual reaction to settle before he speaks, whispering into Megatron’s audio receiver to avoid waking their son.

“Do you want me to take him?”

“Mhm…thank you,” Megatron rumbles sleepily, optics sliding half closed again. He looks exhausted, surrendering their son to him easily.

Optimus picks their sparkling up carefully, shushing him as he fusses, whining as he’s lifted from his Sire’s hold. Blue optics blink blearily up at him just before tiny fists begin to rub at rub at them.

“Daddy…?”

“Hello, Winterblast,” Optimus cradles his son to his chest, speaking softly, “It’s time for bed.”

“Mm…’kay…” Winterblast rests his head against his shoulder, one servo curling around the edge of his windshield. His optics are closed again before Optimus has rounded the couch.

Optimus traces the familiar path to his berthroom, the door sliding open automatically as he approaches. Winterblast makes a small sound as he’s lowered to his berth, but is otherwise silent. Optimus tucks his soft mesh blanket around him, not too tight, and waits for him to settle completely.

There’s a muted click when Optimus reaches to the small bedside table, flicking on the nightlight that rests there, and the room is filled with a soft glow, the shapes of stars and galaxies and planets rotating calmly over the walls.

He leans down, presses a soft kiss to Winterblast’s forehead, murmurs a quiet “good night”, then tiptoes out, letting the door slide shut behind him.

Megatron is slightly more alert when Optimus returns; he’s rubbing his face, and he’s had the sense to turn on a single light.

“How did it go?” Megatron’s voice is still thick with sleep.

“It could have gone more smoothly,” Optimus turns, not to the living room, but to their kitchen of sorts, already moving to pull out a few bottles of various ingredients. “Starscream was not in the best of moods when I arrived.”

“You know how he feels about asking for our assistance on Vosnian matters.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the people causing the trouble were not supportive of him during the war, and still seemed to think they were above him.”

“He is the High Councilor of Vos.”

“I know.”

“He was my second in command.”

“I know.”

“Were they Decepticons?”

“That does not matter anymore,” Optimus reminds him, adding a shot of Tarnian visco to a rounded glass.

There is a soft snort from the living room, “Do I need to get involved?”

“No, Soundwave helped us sort it out.”

“Soundwave got involved?”

“Yes, well, they became more aggravated as the meeting progressed. Starscream kept his temper, and they tried to draw a reaction from him. One of them decided to try a threat. You know how well Soundwave tolerates that.”

Megatron hums.

“They were much more willing to listen after his involvement.”

“It’s sorted then?”

“It is,” Optimus casts a glance into the living room, watching as Megatron stretches his arms, “How was your day?”

Megatron groans lowly, and his arms come down to rest on the back of the couch. His head lolls back, his optics closed again, and Optimus can only smile. He adds a few extra dashes of ground tungsten to the highgrade he’s added to the visco. He grabs a second glass, combines Crystal City highgrade with a splash of liquid gold, and moves back to the living room.

Megatron takes the drink that’s offered to him, looking immediately grateful at the sight of the extra tungsten.

“That well, hm?” Optimus sits beside him, swirling his own glass carefully to mix in the gold.

Megatron gives him a look out of the side of his optic, sipping heartily from his glass. Optimus smiles at him.

“Your son-”

“ _Our_ son,” Optimus reminds him gently, biting back a smile. It’s a familiar game they play.

“No, _your_ son,” Megatron lowers his glass, “threw a tantrum at the medic’s office.”

“He does not like shots.”

“Something you are well aware of.”

Optimus sips innocently from his own drink.

Megatron narrows his optics, “You are taking him next time.”

“Was it truly that bad?”

“It took thirty kliks to calm him down enough for Ratchet to find a line,” Megatron looks at his drink as he swirls it. “He does much better when you’re with him.”

Optimus shifts closer, his field soft and comforting in response to the slightly hurt edge that appears in Megatron’s voice and over their bond.

“You get tense when you take him. He feels it.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“I know. You are protective; any time you believe he may experience pain, you react,” He nudges against Megatron gently. “It is not a bad thing, Megatron.”

Megatron looks at him, and his mouth curls up into a small smile.

Optimus smiles back, “Surely the day was not completely chaotic?”

“No,” Megatron chuckles lowly, “We went for frozen energon, and he insisted on walking through Iacon Park for _hours._ ”

“That sounds like a wonderful time.”

“It was,” Megatron sips from his drink again, “He’s curious about everything.”

“He is,” Optimus smiles a little wider, “He will be hard to keep up with as he grows older.”

Megatron nods, “I do not doubt that.” His field radiates pride.

They fall silent, enjoying their drinks and each other’s company. The monitor flickers, and Optimus sees a muted scene of a sparklings animation play across the screen.

“I believe I may know this episode by spark now.”

“I know I do,” Megatron tries to stifle a yawn as he brings his arm down over Optimus’ shoulders, holding him close. “Winterblast finds it amusing.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Optimus leans forward, picks up the thin remote from the table, then settles back against Megatron. He flicks idly through the various channels, neither of them overly interested in anything that comes up.

Megatron yawns again, trying and failing to hide it behind his glass.

Optimus looks up at him, smiling softly.

“Wait…”

He slips away from Megatron’s hold, dodging any attempts to hold him tighter, and stands up. There is only a token protest given as he takes Megatron’s drink from him. Optimus takes both unfinished drinks to the kitchen and slips them into their cooling cabinet before returning to the living room.

“Come,” He takes one of Megatron’s servos, pulling gently.

“You just got home,” Megatron resists, setting himself more firmly against the couch.

“And I believe a hot shower would do both of us good,” Optimus squeezes his servo. “Come.”

Megatron relents, allowing himself to be pulled up. He wraps his arm around Optimus’ waist, and together they walk to their berthroom, the lights and the monitor automatically shutting off behind them. Megatron continues alone to the connected washroom, digits tapping against a control panel in the wall, setting their shower to their preferences. Optimus moves to the berth, reaching for a small remote. At the push of a button, the windows that take up one side of the room go dark, and the ceiling transforms into a massive skylight.

Satisfied, Optimus sets the remote down and steps away, moving to join Megatron.

Their washroom is as spacious as their berthroom, with enough space for a large standing shower and a roomy tub in the corner. Optimus had felt a little uncomfortable with the design at first, finding it more luxurious than necessary, but it had grown on him. And as long as he and Megatron worked to earn the luxury, he saw no reason to feel guilty.

Megatron stands beneath the shower, face up and optics closed. There are four large panels in the ceiling that serve as nozzles, each pouring down heated cleanser. It leaves enough room for both of them to easily shower together, with space to spare. Optimus doesn’t hesitate to step beside him, a soft sigh escaping him as he relaxes.

They shower in silence, letting the cleanser wash over them. For the first few moments they are still, simply enjoying the sensation, but servos begin to wander, and soon Megatron is pulling Optimus close, and Optimus doesn’t hesitate to tuck his head into his neck. They breathe, their fields curling together lazily.

Optimus begins to feel lulled by the comfortable heat, by Megatron’s arms around him. It’s been a long day.

He yawns against Megatron’s plating, feels his chest rumble with a low laugh. A kiss is pressed against the top of his head.

The shower shuts off. Soft towels are pulled from a hidden cabinet set in the wall. They dry each other off, their servos tender and slow. Optimus brushes his thumb over the scars on Megatron’s face. Megatron catches his servo, presses a kiss against a single knuckle joint before diligently wiping cleanser from every seam.

They move to the berthroom. Megatron smiles at the sight of Optimus’ changes. He moves to the berth, and Optimus double checks their security systems on the panel by the berthroom door. When he turns, satisfied that everything is as it should be, he finds Megatron sitting at the edge of the berth, watching him.

Optimus goes to him, and together they slide into berth, getting comfortable at its center. There’s still ample space on either side of them, but the size of the berth is a luxury that Optimus never questioned. There are still nightmares, at times, nights when one or the other kicks and thrashes. Sometimes they can pull each other out. Sometimes the only thing they can do is move away and let the other fight off whatever plagues their dreams.

They are not worried about that tonight. Tonight, Megatron gets comfortable on his back, and Optimus tucks himself under his arm, against his side, his head on Megatron’s chest. They both look up at the night sky, relaxed by the sight of the stars above them.

“We should go to Crystal City tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember those permits we had to sign, granting permission for organic life to be brought here?”

“I do.”

“The one who sent them, what was his name again?”

“Prowl,” Optimus fights back a yawn.

“Prowl. He’s opening his greenhouse for public viewing.”

“Is he?” Optimus shifts, tilting his head up to look up at Megatron. His eyes are closed, half way to sleeping, “You don’t enjoy organic life.”

“No,” Megatron does not stop his own yawn, “but, I thought Winterblast might enjoy it.”

Optimus smiles, “I think he will be thrilled.”

Megatron nods once, humming an acknowledgement.

Optimus resettles, “Sleep well, Megatron.”

He receives a mumbled response, and the smile on his face grows.

A shooting star flashes across their ceiling. Optimus closes his optics and allows himself to drift off, safe and warm in his sparkmate’s arms.


End file.
